Kickin' The Evenstar
by sylc
Summary: In which Arwen kicks the Evenstar pendant, contemplates the sexist hypocrisy of elves, and her sexual embarrassment at her part-elf heritage. Definite abuse of canon so AU. Possible crack!fic. Sexist elves. You've been warned!


Arwen watched the Evenstar pendant that she had been kicking along before her on her retreat from Calas Galadhon sail over the small rise at the end of the glade in which she stood and scowled when she heard a soft splash. Stalking over, she stared irritably into the clear depths of the shallow stream and after a moment, squatted and reached in to take out the pendant. Then, when she caught sight of her reflection, she raised her arm and tossed the pendant back into the depths, sending ripples coursing through the face in the water.

"Curse this body," she spat when the waters cleared. "It causes me naught but grief!" She balled her hands into the grass, face twisting with fury as she thought of what had transpired only hours earlier that day; when she had been under the impression that that day was perfect-alone in Lothlorien, in a quiet and secluded talan strewn with luxuries, a devoted and beautiful lover at her side.

And then the illusion had been shattered. The lover had fled and the wonder turned to chaos.

Arwen marvelled that she could still be surprised, made distraught by rejection based on her part-mortal heritage. After all, most of her rejections, including her first, were based on her appearance. She propped her head on her dripping hand and sighed as she thought back to her very first lover... one of her brothers' best friends.

"Good Manwë, there is hair down there!" the elf had exclaimed within moments of lifting her skirt. And within minutes of those moments, after a few more inept comments on his part, Arwen had fled from the room in tears of humiliation.

Most of the lovers had been turned off by the hair. Once, Arwen had sought her brothers' advice, for they seemed to have no trouble in finding and keeping lovers. They had simply laughed at her and said that although they had no difficulty, perhaps she should consider removing the hair. She had almost thrown her drink into their faces when they had claimed that her lovers were right and that hairy female bodies were unattractive.

"Sexist pigs. For creatures that claim that all that is gold does not glitter and that females are fairer than males, they are terrible hypocrites," she snarked at the water.

Then there had been the elves who had found her too big boned. Glorfindel had been the first to put his foot in it.

"Maybe if you ate a little less," he had suggested over breakfast in bed one day. Arwen had refused to speak to him for a few weeks afterwards.

And then there had been those lovers who had, after being privvy to her more frequent... cycle, had firstly thought that she was bleeding to death and then, after hearing the explanation, simply... fled.

Oh, and the ones that had seen her sleeping with her eyes shut (as she did on occasion) and called the healers in alarm.

And now... the latest reason. A few hours ago, their relationship had seemed to be progressing marvellously well. She had had no inkling that anything was about to go wrong at all-as is so often the case with bad news. Lindir was one of her father's favourite minstrels and the diminutive and handsome elf was certainly no stranger to wooing females, whether of elf, human, or hobbit variety. He had shown no adversion to hairs, curves, closed eyes, her cycles, or the fact that she was much taller and heavier than him. Indeed, he was so open minded that Arwen had truly thought that she had found her perfect match. True, he had sometimes seemed a little awkward during the act when in certain positions, but he had not raised his issue and so she had paid it little heed, thinking that it would blow over. At least, she had ignored it until earlier that day when she had caught his openly frightened look and demanded an explanation of him.

"My love, it is nothing personal, but your..." Lindir's expression had been hesitant as he had indicated her naked chest. "It is probably to do with our heights, but you see, I have this aversion to large ones. It is a silly fear and I am embarrassed to mention it, but I sometimes truly believe that I could suffocate in them."

In hindsight, Arwen supposed that she had probably overreacted. But it was probably too late now to mend their relationship. She had drawn him into an argument, insulted him, ripped apart his pride... and half the room, and he had fled from the talan in terror.

She exhaled, reached back into the water to retrieve the pendant, then rose, taking the chain out of her pocket.

"Perhaps I should try a mortal next time," she said, casting her reflection a last glare before spinning around and walking back to the glade. As she went, she threaded the pendant back onto the chain, which she then strung around her throat.

When, moments later, she heard someone shouting "Tinúviel, Tinúviel," and turned to observe a mortal running towards her, she would have laughed at the irony if the man had not been a stranger. Instead, she wrapped her blue and silver mantle more closely about her and shot him a friendly, if wary smile.

"Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?"


End file.
